Snow
by Ghost of Harrenhal
Summary: twishagratzu requested: peggy and steve get separated from the howlies in a blizzard and have to huddle together for warmth trope. bonus points if steve has to undress and is embarrassed.


"I can't believe Barnes didn't see this coming," she says, pulling her collar further up to cover her nose.

"In all fairness, Morita usually handles this whole weather thing."

Peggy knows he can't see her judgmental glance through the storm, but she throws it his way all the same out of principle.

"Which is why when Morita broke his leg, Barnes bloody volunteered to do the research," she points out in a frustrated tone and hears Steve snort a short laugh beside her. "I doubt you'll find it amusing when we die of hypothermia and our bodies are found frozen in the morning if they're found at all."

It doesn't help her moods when he laughs again.

"Oh Good Christ, aren't you concerned in the slightest?" she asks, exasperated, trying to make out his features through the curtain of falling snow.

"Sorry, Agent Carter, I'm just not that cold," he says nonchalantly about to take another step when she stills him with a hand to his arm.

"Do you mean to tell me we're looking for shelter in a Russian blizzard and you are not _that cold_?"

She sounds disbelieving, which he doesn't quite comprehend since Peggy knows what the serum entails better than he does, having read all of the remaining research along with his medical reports.

He's about to point out the obvious, but gets interrupted by her sudden state of alarm.

"Agent Carter?" he speaks as quietly as he thinks she can hear through the howling wind. "Something wrong?"

She wraps her fingers around his wrist and tugs him close until their sides are pressed together.

"I'm not sure. You're the one with heightened senses, you tell me." It's as much a whisper as it can be when they need to speak above the blizzard.

Steve can't make out her expression through the foggy lenses of her goggles but the tension in her stance is unmistakable. They both fall silent, leaning against each other, while he pays more accurate attention to their surroundings in search of a threat.

It doesn't take long to recognize the sound of gunshots somewhere north of where they stand.

"The commandos?" he thinks out loud.

Peggy nods negatively, pulling down her collar momentarily to mouth a poignant 'no' before shoving him slightly in the direction opposite of the shooting. Steve obliges, hooking his arm around hers to prevent separation when he sets the pace of their walk to a near run.

"The Commandos know not to engage," she says a little breathless once they cover enough ground to drown out the battle. "Either way I'm not keen on shouting for them in enemy territory."

"It wouldn't make a difference, the wind is too loud," he agrees, letting go of her arm to reach for a compass tucked underneath his gear.

"The base is back that way," he says pointing right of the path they've just taken. "I'd guess ten miles. No way we can cover that much ground before sunset."

"No way _I_ can cover that much ground before sunset," she corrects.

"I'm not leaving you," he says instantly.

She turns to meet a kind of determination that wouldn't have left room for arguing even if that had been her intention. A stance she'd seen him take once before when he'd insisted on going after the 107th.

"I wasn't about to suggest it," Peggy says, barely managing to fight the smile his concern brings to her lips. "I was going to point out the need for shelter. If we stay in this blizzard any longer I _will_ start presenting some signs of hypothermia."

He nods, forehead creasing in concentration and concern as he looks around, pondering their options.

"In debriefing they never anticipated we'd go this much off course, but I took a quick look at the maps deeper into the country and there should be a farm three miles northwest of here. We can get there before sunset and sneak into the barn. I doubt anyone will be watching with the blizzard," he says, looking to her for approval.

Peggy nods. "Sounds like a plan."

He links their arms again and sets their course at a slower pace, afraid of exhausting her any further than strictly necessary.

The storm has grown thicker and even with her pressed up to his side it becomes difficult to make out her figure apart from what Steve can assess from touch. She begins to shiver violently halfway to their destination when the wind shifts to start blowing against their track. Peggy's teeth rattle and eventually they have to stop to allow her to spit out blood after biting her tongue.

He is half carrying her by the time they reach the farm.

Steve pushes their way into the barn with a creak muffled by the whistle of the wind and when he shuts the door just dulling the sounds of the blizzard seems like absolute silence. There are no animals, only stacks of hay piled to the corners, some covered in stretches of leather and others bare against the walls. The temperature still isn't much more hospitable, but without the snow swirling violently around them it becomes survivable provided she can preserve body heat.

He sets her down against one of batches of hay and starts digging into his gear for a match. "I'll get to building a fire."

Peggy holds his wrist to stop the search with an arched eyebrow "How do you intend to breathe once the smoke takes over this barn? By opening the doors?" she asks sarcastically.

Steve's attention shifts back to her with a blank expression as his hands fall limply out of his pockets. "Good point," he mumbles.

Peggy nods, peeling off her gloves to find her skin marked in popped out veins and fingers crowned in purple nails. She sighs, wishing she'd had time to paint them red before leaving for the mission. "Pull one of those things covering the hay and undress. I'm already turning blue."

"What?" he asks, eyes widening while he watches her pull herself up by leaning against the compressed golden threads. He means to help but she slaps his hand away when he reaches forward.

"We need to huddle," she explains letting her backpack fall to the floor. "Unless you're comfortable with the idea of letting me freeze to death"

He's stunned and if it wasn't for the cold there would definitely be a blush to accompany his mortification at the prospect of spending a night with his skin pressed up against Agent Carter's. Not to play the innocent, he's thought about it, but the setting was different and he was definitely not caught by surprise.

It seem she has no plans of easing him into the idea either, because Steve stares dumfounded as she unclasps her outer coat with shaky hands and throws it to the side unceremoniously.

"Quick, Rogers," she says snapping her fingers to break him out of his inner dealings. "Improvised blanket and in your underwear."

There isn't much arguing that can be made on his part.

Steve walks to the opposite end of the barn to pull the cover out of the tallest stack and lays it between two other batches of hay in a spot he thinks is the warmest before starting to undress.

He lets his supplies drop to the floor and reaches for the zipper on his coat, undoing it quickly and moving onto removing the military green sweater underneath. The cold he'd been keeping at bay catches up to his bare chest and he feels a shiver roam his body feeling sorry for the loss clothes. At last he undoes his belt buckle and pushes off all the remaining layers of fabric at once until he's down to his underwear as requested.

"I'm done, what do y-" the words catch in his throat when he turns to find Peggy struggling with the last piece of her gear: a tight fitting second skin that her arms are incapable of reaching high enough to remove.

His eyes follow her figure from the awkward tangle of limbs down her shoulder blades to the curve of her waist and hips and along her legs. He heats up with embarrassment thinking it's not too gentlemanly to stare when he can clearly make out her bluish extremities and the she shivers at the cold. Probably even less polite to do so when he can hear her curse in distress while trapped in clothing.

He shifts his gaze away while still being able to see her out the corner of his eye and clears his throat before speaking again. "Need help, Agent Carter?"

Peggy turns, and as if on cue she manages to get rid of the shirt and Steve immediately tilts his head fully away to look down intently at his feet. As always his awkward propriety has the corners of her mouth curving up slightly.

"I'd try to tease you but I'm too blue, cold and out of energy for it. Grab your clothes, they're huddling with us," she says a bit out of breath, kneeling to gather her own crumpled pile of fabric. "And we're about to be skin to skin for a good ten hours Captain, if you're unable to look I'll wager touching might prove itself a challenge."

The way her voice falters concerns him but Steve still doesn't look up. "I—well, I just, I—" he stutters hopelessly.

"No need to explain yourself," she interrupts. "Come on, for this kind of temperature I've already stayed too long in just my knickers."

Steve nods, picks up his clothes and follows her to the nest he's prepared still avoiding visual contact with any part of her body.

Peggy throws her coat over the leather cover and lies on top of it before gesturing for him to do the same. He is still having trouble accepting the situation, but does as he's told, lowering himself to the ground and pulling his own coat over them both. Once they're settled Peggy hooks an arm around his ribcage and presses her cold hand to his back, a silent request for him to move closer, which he does, shifting until his front is molded against her own.

"You're freezing," he whispers, hyper aware of their contact while deliberately trying to ignore it.

"I've noticed," she says, resting her cheek on his chest. "The guys are going to get such a laugh out of this."

"I'm sure you can handle them," he says absentmindedly, still trying to push the thought of their current situation out of his mind.

"What makes you think it'll be me they'll be making fun of?"

Steve can feel her breath against his cheek, it has a shiver coursing down his spine. Not very helpful to the purpose of remaining neutral.

"Why would they make fun of me?"

"Do you honestly need me to tell you?" she asks, leaning back enough to look him in the eye.

He shrugs and she smiles mischievously, sneaking one of her legs in between his and hoisting her thigh up to very nearly press against his crotch while stroking a thumb along his spine.

Steve jolts backwards, mortification and surprise laced with desire overturning his features. His coat slips from where it sheltered their bodies and Peggy has to pull her arm free from his weight to get it back in place.

"You'd think somebody came at you with a branding iron, not bare legs," she says, adjusting back to her former position and stretching her arms forward as an invitation. "Come on, I won't be harassing you again, don't worry."

"You just said you wouldn't tease me either," he says grudgingly, but moves closer nonetheless. "And that wasn't funny."

"Perhaps not to you," she concedes, once again wrapping herself around his warmth. "But I'm terribly exhausted, and mocking you is keeping me awake."

"You can't sleep?"

"Not if I'd like to be alive in the morning."

"That's a pretty good reason," he mumbles, tugging her closer, trying to reach a more comfortable setting. "I think we should talk more to keep you awake in that case."

"What would you suggest we talked about?"

Steve shrugs and bites the corner of his mouth pondering on the things they could discuss.

"Tell me about your mother?" It's phrased as a question because they've been through too many wars in the last few years and he never knows anymore which families have become a sensitive topic. "If that's okay," he adds for good measure.

Peggy sighs and hums thoughtfully before speaking. "Her name is Amanda. She's a proper, lovely, British woman who threw a fit when I enlisted." Her tone is humorous and affectionate - whatever tension the decision to join the army created has seemingly been resolved - so Steve doesn't feel bad about chuckling when the scene pops into his head.

"She didn't think fine ladies were meant for war?" he asks, breaking apart from her slightly.

"Not that, she didn't think nineteen-year-old's were meant for war."

He frowns in confusion. "What do you mean? You were born in 1919 and enlisted in 1940, that's twenty-one."

"I lied on my form, I was born in 1921," she explains "I didn't tell mother I was enlisting, and once it was done there wasn't much she or father could do without exposing my little misdemeanor."

Steve had, since the first moment he met Peggy and watched her punch Hodge, been a little bit in love with her as well as healthily frightened by her skills. Yet, that unsubtle crush he'd been nurturing since then is nothing when compared to the surge of respect and affection he feels bubble up for her in light of this new discovery.

"You lied on your _enlistment form_?" It's what she's just told him but Steve finds himself dumbstruck by the extent of the admiration he's currently experiencing.

"Yes, I didn't think it was fair to watch so many of my friends die away from home while I spent two years hiding under my mother's skirts."

He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep from kissing her then.

"What is it?" she questions, bemused by his reaction. "Do I not look two years younger?"

"That is not it at all," he whispers, leaning back a bit more to watch her face with intent.

He drinks in the sight of her mouth, turning back to its natural shade but still a little blue from the cold and smiling ever so slightly, enough for him to make out her dimples. His gaze moves up and around, analyzing the curves of her face, the sharp angle of her jaw and delicacy of her nose until he reaches her eyes: brown, bright and perfect.

Steve doesn't presume to call himself an artist, but he's always liked to draw and he's drawn everything he's ever thought deserved memorizing. His mother and father, Bucky, childhood vacation spots, soldiers, the choir girls from his tours and so on. He's also tried to draw Peggy several times, but was always too embarrassed to ask her to pose for him, so it's been a struggle to capture her correctly when all he has to go on with is stolen glances from different angles and lighting.

But watching her now, Steve thinks seventy years could go by and he'd still be able to sketch her exactly as she is in this moment from memory alone.

"I'm just—" he drifts, still lost in reverence.

Peggy's smile slowly fades from her lips but is preserved in her eyes. "What?"

Steve nods to shake off his daze and lands back in reality.

"Nothing. Let's just talk more, it's gonna be a long night," he says, cuddling closer again, pulling her to his chest and resting his chin on top her head.

They chat twelve hours away until the blizzard softens and fades outside, and the wooden walls of the barn no longer creak under the strength of the wind. Steve still doesn't look when she stands to dress, and waits until she's done to do the same. Peggy throws the leather spread over the batch of hay it belonged to while he settles into his gear and once they're ready the way back to camp without the storm is fairly easy.

They never tell the Commandos about the huddling but the men guess.

To his surprise no one breathes a word about their business.


End file.
